Drag-- Like That
by GrandMal
Summary: Serana's first encounter with the Dragonborn is nothing like she expected.


**Drag** Like That**

" _The Elder Scrolls" is copyright 1994 by Bethesda Softworks._

Serana coughed as a thousand years of ash-cement dust burst into her sarcophagus, and coincidently, her lungs, but she waited for the lid to finish its grinding descent before she did anything about it.

Then she stepped out carefully, Elder Scroll clutched in one hand, and used her other to brush away the settling cloud. It would be good to see mother and father again, she thought.

Her whimsical introspection was shattered by what was, quite possibly, the last question on Nirn that she expected.

"Yes, I have a question. As the Dragonborn, I must know: what does a vampire's ass smell like?"

An unassuming Nord strode forward through the dust cloud, his pale blue eyes focused on Serana's own.

"Ex-excuse me…?" she spluttered.

Whatever she had been expecting after being freed from her confinement, it certainly wasn't this… this… rude, vulgar clown of a man.

"You're so cute and small," the Dragonborn continued. "No wonder the Bretons love you, your head comes up to their waists."

Serana's mouth hung open silently. She didn't know what to say. In all of her considerable experience, speechless had only been a figure of speech until now. So she settled for dignified offence, prefaced with every dirty word so knew. "Bastard s'wit whoreson! That's no way to speak to a lady."

"Oh. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

That did it. She leapt forward, intent on showing the foul-mouthed stranger why it had been considered suicidal to blatantly insult a Daughter of Coldharbour. Serana's clawed hand whipped toward the Dragonborn's head faster than the mortal eye could track as lighting started to spark in its palm.

"Woah!"

Hand connected to helmet with a satisfying smack and the pop of crackling flesh. She didn't get away entirely unscathed though. The man's helmet was covered in some form of spike, two of which had gone right through her hand. That was still better than the mewling pile of cloth and armour lying on the floor at her feet.

"Hey! I'm not your boyfriend!" it yelled.

It took her a few seconds to puzzle out what he meant by that. Then Serana scowled. "Are you implying that I would hit my lover because they were being improper!"

"I'm not implying anything."

Lightning sparked dangerously.

"I kid, I kid," said the man, rising to his feet.

"Hmph."

"So, anyway," he said, popping a health potion and sighing as the lightning burn faded, "who are you? And why were you sealed in a buried sarcophagus?"

Serana considered his question before answering. This man was—quite obviously—not her father, nor one of the members or thralls of his court. Either she had been awoken early or something had happened to Castle Volkihar. She needed more information before she could decide what to do.

"I will answer your questions if you answer some of mine first," she said.

"Sure, shoot away."

"I-what? Shoot… where?"

"It's an expression…?" said the Dragonborn. "It means go ahead." He titled his head to the side. "How long have you been here?"

She ignored his question. "What year is it?"

"Uh, it's the Fourth Era, year two-hundred and one."

Serana fell to her knees. She was in the Fourth Era. It had been over two-hundred years and two ages since her father had sealed her. That was… the world was undoubtably different now. Maybe that explained the man's manner and custom of speech. Perhaps all men were vulgar creatures like this one…

She spied the man craning his head from the corner of her eye.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Serana stood up, using her hands to lean on as she pushed her legs up. "In my experience, 'nothing' usually means something untoward." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, what were you looking at?"

The Dragonborn raised his hands in surrender. "You've got to promise that you won't get angry," he said.

Serana huffed. "I promise."

A strange glint entered the Dragonborn's eye. "Okay. Well, to be honest. I have never seen an ass like that."

"Right." Serana stowed the Elder Scroll on her back, tugging its strap to make sure it was tight. She tugged on her pleated leather skirt self-consciously. "I'll give you a count of three."

"Huh?"

"Two," she said. Lightning crackled in both palms now, and her eyes burned a fell orange.

Understanding widened the Dragonborn's eyes in comical relief.

"One."

"Glory to Mighty Akatosh," the Dragonborn whispered. "Worth it."


End file.
